fragmentary blue
by yikes-strikes-again
Summary: "Why make so much of fragmentary blue/In here and there a bird, or butterfly,/Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,/When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?" - (Robert Frost) McCoy faces an old, terrifying enemy. Spock is forced to confront fragmented blue - and in the process, brings an earth-shattering revelation into the light. Both suffer. Both heal, eventually.


**author's note:** a wonderful story published on this archive inspired me to write this, so i thought it only fitting to publish it here as well.

please, read insontis by kcs if you haven't already - if you enjoyed "the wounds of a friend" series in particular, i am your friend, and this story was written for you.

also, bear in mind that though this story centers largely around spock and mccoy, it is not intended to be shippy - i'm a k/s gal at heart. however, i take no issue with alternate interpretations… isn't that what shipping is, anyway?

without further ado, let's get right to the story, shall we?

**OH ALSO** i absolutely insist that you see "mirror mirror" before you read this if you haven't already, for some fucking reason. nothing will make sense unless you do. also it's just a really good episode.

* * *

"Spock, do we really have to do this right now?"

"Doctor, may I remind you," said Spock, voiced tinged with the slightest heat of impatience, "that you have rescheduled this meeting twice in the past thirty-six hours. I have accommodated both times. As our current schedule is unlikely to change in the immediate future, I see no reason to postpone it any further. It will only take a few moments, assuming you cooperate." He shifted, obviously not in the mood for insubordination.

The meeting room was cold, though it could just be his nerves as Spock appeared unbothered. He stood ramrod straight, hands folded behind his back, while McCoy sat in a nearby chair, looking for the most convenient route of escape from this conversation.

Seeing none at the moment, he sighed and threw his hands up in a gesture of resignation. "Fine, Spock. What do you want."

Spock narrowed his eyes at him. "I believe you are aware that I have inquired regarding the crew psychological evaluations that were due last week. I believe you are also aware that you are the only crew member aboard who has failed to submit a report of your own mental health in the face of the rigors of long-term space exploration."

"You're houndin' me for a report, Spock? Right before we're due to beam down to the surface of an unexplored planet?" he griped. McCoy, of course, knew what Spock wanted to lecture him about the minute he had first requested to speak with him. Nonetheless, his exasperation was real. Of all times to get on his case about a little thing like this, now was not it! (Granted, he had been trying to get ahold of him about it for a while… but still.)

"Timing aside, Doctor, all I require is the confirmation that you will submit to a full psychological assessment for the purpose of this mission at the next available convenience." He paused, tall frame looming, and raised an eyebrow, silently urging his compliance.

McCoy was silent for a moment, considering. He felt a little sympathy for Spock, he really did; this was an awkward conversation to have from either end. Though not as blatantly uncomfortable as himself, he got the sense that Spock would have this wrapped up as soon as possible, too. No doubt he had better things to do than reprimand colleagues over late paperwork… probably. You could never be sure with Vulcans.

He _had_ been avoiding it, there was no point in denying that to himself. He'd performed thousands of psych evals on the whole crew over the years - little check-ins with all of them, every twelve months or so, trying to catch the signs of debilitating trauma and illness before they impaired a person's function at a critical moment. Occasionally, they did - saving, perhaps, hundreds of lives, the survival of which depended on their ability to act calmly in a crisis. Additionally, the medical personnel aboard a starship, who dealt with death, injury, and loss in a more direct fashion than other departments, deserved special attention when it came to potential trauma. And McCoy, the Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise, the most danger-prone ship in the whole damn fleet (or so it seemed sometimes), needed to be on top of his own responses more than anyone. It was _literally _a matter of life and death.

Given all that, he almost said yes.

But… there was something kept him, a relentless anxiety that lingered in the back of his mind. To speak nothing of the fact that he felt _fine, _thank you very much, he'd never been a willing patient when it came to the particulars of the procedure. Yes, he may have performed thousands of psych evals on the whole crew, but any one of them could attest to the fact that it was a _very_ different experience on the other side of the interview table.

There was also the fact that the specific evaluations to which Spock was referring were quite different from the standard ones done every year, on every ship. No, their final year in space meant a much more intensive final mental check-up. These evals weren't just for the crew's well-being, but for the purpose of research - the ongoing study of how individuals responded to years and years in space, on dangerous missions, as the trail-blazers of the universe. It had taken well over two months to drag everyone in to sickbay for interviews that lasted an hour at the very minimum. The process was draining for all involved, and so it was little surprise to himself or anyone who knew him well that he had postponed putting himself through it thus far.

But there was something else, too, something he wouldn't dare hint at for fear his own medical team would force him under the microscope. McCoy was worried that a full psych eval would uncover certain things, things he wasn't… wasn't ready to bring out into the light.

He sat, staring at his hands, wondering how long he could wait before Spock really started cracking down on him. Once he sensed that his reluctance to answer was stretching the limits of Spock's tolerance, he tried to appeal to the man's passion for ruthless efficiency.

"Spock, this whole thing is ridiculous. I mean, it's already taken, what, ten weeks to get all the other reports in? And _I've_ been the one writing them, so surely I can be trusted to know if I _need_ one. My staff and I have been bogged down with paperwork so long that we've missed out on _days_ of sleep, and the eval would make me unavailable for a matter of hours. You wouldn't want to impair our performance any further during a _mission_, would you?"

Spock was always a stickler for protocol, so McCoy wasn't surprised that he wasn't swayed. "As a medical professional and permanently stationed officer of this ship, you are no doubt aware of the necessity of the procedure for _all _members of the crew. Because we are in the final months of the five year mission, it is prudent to concentrate study on - "

"Yes, yes, Spock, it may shock you to realize it, but I am _aware_ of my duties as CMO of this ship." He huffed. "I'm simply pointing out that it's counterintuitive to make the _interviewer_ a subject of study as well."

"Be that as it may, Doctor, it is protocol." Spock unfolded his hands from behind his back and crossed them over his chest. He looked down on him with less irritation, now, and more probing curiosity. "Given your cognizance of your duty, and your understanding that I would eventually confront you regarding it, have you any reason for delaying your own evaluation for such a significant period of time?"

McCoy was running out of excuses at this point, so he decided to double-down. "Well, Spock, I can't exactly evaluate myself, can I? That's against procedure." The last bit he delivered with a sarcastic little grin.

It didn't work, and his smile disappeared. Spock glared - yes, _glared, _that was the only word to describe the look - in his direction, and McCoy was doubtful that he was even aware of his open display of emotion. Any other crewman would probably require a change of uniform afterwards.

But there was more than simple irritation there. Behind it, McCoy saw genuine bafflement, concern, even, and inquisitiveness, probably trying to figure out how even a senseless, over-emotional human like him could come up with a statement so removed from logic. He'd always hated that stare, when he was on the receiving end of it. All calculating, psycho-analyzing, like he was trying to pick his mind apart and put it back together. That was supposed to be _his_ job.

"There are a total of eight medical personnel, other than yourself, currently serving aboard the Enterprise," Spock began slowly, a touch of awe in his voice. "Of those, three hold credentials that certify them to perform interviews of this nature. Certainly, as you are the chief medical officer, I do not need to remind you of this fact." He finished, and though it was by no stretch the longest string of words he had delivered in the past five minutes, McCoy felt that his spiel had lasted hours.

The problem was that Spock was completely right. His avoidance had become intolerable and at odds with his duty, not to mention a potential hazard to the function of the ship. At least, that's how everyone else saw it. Regardless of anything he could say, McCoy would be forced to submit to an evaluation.

He sighed, running a hand over his face, and felt Spock's eyes on him. He wanted them off. "Spock, I don't know about you, but I really hate goin' in for those things."

"That is no excuse to ignore the responsibility you have: to ensure the mental security of the crew of the Enterprise, in particular, her senior officers." The anger in his eyes was fading, replaced with mild annoyance and a hesitant sympathy. "However, I will concede that I am… adverse, to the proceedings myself."

Behind his hand, McCoy smiled. He recalled Spock's palpable discomfort in sickbay a few weeks ago, how he had insisted that there was no logic in interrogating him on feelings he did not possess, and how _they_ had insisted that the questions had not been constructed with Vulcan sensibilities in mind. He knew the "no feelings" bit was a load of bull, so as a healthcare professional, he couldn't rightly send the guy on his way until he had tried to pull more out of him. They hadn't really gotten anywhere until Spock admitted that he still had trouble recovering from the trauma of nearly killing Jim during his _pon farr, _so Christine made a note for him to see a Vulcan therapist once their mission was over. There wasn't a lot they could do for the time being, but it was worth uncovering before the trauma developed into something more serious.

"I know, Spock," he muttered. "It's just… I don't know, there's somethin'… _embarrassing _about discussing your deepest feelings before an audience, 'specially in a professional setting like that. Kinda like being dissected."

Spock was silent for a time. His expression shifted to one of curiosity, then contemplation, and finally understanding. "Indeed," he said simply.

Another pause, and McCoy wondered what he could possibly be thinking. Surely he was cooking up another infallible solution in that Vulcan mind of his.

Then, Spock cleared his throat. "Doctor, since you are opposed to a verbal appraisal of your mental faculties, perhaps another method could be devised."

He was silent again. McCoy leaned forward a bit, interested in any idea that could spare him the tribulations of the eval he'd been performing himself.

At last, he spoke, but hesitantly. "... I would propose… a mind meld, between yourself and I, so that I could ascertain your responses to inquiries without the need for you to provide a response. I believe I am qualified - "

"No!" he choked out, and Spock started at the sudden volume of his voice. One eyebrow climbed his forehead. McCoy had felt a familiar ball of anxiety forming in his gut at the phrase "_mind meld" _and it had taken him precious few seconds to formulate a response. He couldn't. There was just no way he'd ever… the irony of it hit him. He relaxed, or tried to, and leaned back in his seat. "No, Spock. Sorry. Any… another option is… preferred."

He could tell Spock was confused by the vehement rejection of his solution, and felt those eyes on him again. He resented it, would give anything for people to stop prying into his thoughts. It was an intrusion, an embarrassment.

Spock seemed to sense that he wished to be left to himself for the moment. "Very well, Doctor. …I shall prepare for our mission." With that, he turned on his heel and turned to leave the meeting room.

McCoy was surprised at his easy acceptance. He'd expected a little more force, a little more needling on Spock's part that he get himself evaluated whether he was comfortable or not. He'd expected him to be insistent that they… well, point was, even he felt a little guilty with how he'd gotten off the hook so easily. He began to say so. "Mr. Spock… I think I'll actually - "

The intercom went off. "Mr. Spock and Doctor McCoy, report to transporter room three," Jim's voice sounded through the open doorway and down the corridor.

Spock had stopped, about to leave, and simply turned his shoulders to him slightly. "Come, Doctor. Our mission awaits."

He followed Spock out of the room, nerves still on edge. The moments before transport always left him feeling a little jittery, anyway.

* * *

Spock's heels clicked in time with Doctor McCoy's as the two of them moved down the corridor in the direction of the turbolift. The doctor remained in step behind him, and silent; both were rather uncharacteristic of him. Usually, when the two were required to travel towards a shared destination, he would walk by his shoulder, filling the silence with extraneous ramblings and acerbic commentary regarding the situation at hand. Though it was unnecessary, and often counterproductive in nature, Spock had grown strangely accustomed to the habit, and accepted it as one of the many irregularities of the doctor's character.

So for him to keep his distance, both physically and mentally, was an indication that something was out of the ordinary. That, combined with their conversation in meeting room four, cemented suspicions of his odd behavior, and Spock was determined to identify the cause.

The discussion they had just shared was illuminating and baffling in equal measure, for a number of reasons. For one, there was the strangeness of the problem that existed at all: the fact that Doctor McCoy had failed to submit to an evaluation of his own mental state. Despite the fact that acting logically was an anomalous occurrence for the doctor, such a lapse in duty was atypical. What was more, he had refused to discuss it with Spock for over a day before being cornered in the midst of preparing for their excursion to the planet's surface. With that context, it seemed likely that he would provide a suitable, or at the very least understandable explanation as to why he had failed to report. Instead, he had feigned ignorance multiple times, going so far as to act unaware of the number of qualified psychiatric authorities aboard the ship!

Spock had not been angry; that was a purely human fallacy. No, he had been completely mystified - what could drive the doctor to such lengths to avoid standard procedure? He had briefly suspected outside influence, but had not enough evidence to justify relieving him of duty or sending him to his own sickbay. And, when presented with an alternate option, one he'd offered generously, in defiance of his culture and the risks involved, the doctor had rejected with such unexpected force. That, at least, could be explained away by his aversion to "Vulcan mind voo-doo," as he referred to it.

Overall, Spock was at a loss as to the origin of Doctor McCoy's unusual conduct as of late. However, he believed that their previous conversation would provide clues that would help him find out.

They reached the turbolift and stepped inside. "Deck five," he commanded, and the light whirr of the lift was the only sound as they glided through the layers of the ship.

The doctor's quietude persisted, and Spock wondered if he had concerns as to the specifics of their mission. As his normal pre-mission routine involved internally reviewing his briefing on the assignment, he chose to verbalize it, purely for the doctor's benefit.

"As you are no doubt aware, the ion storm gathered above the planet's surface is estimated to have originated over one million years ago," he began mildly. "Because of this, it is a mystery how the distress signal was able to escape its surface and reach our ship's sensors."

The doctor raised an eyebrow in his direction, but said nothing. In absence of a true response, Spock continued. "Despite the conditions, it has been determined that sending a landing party rather than an exploratory drone is the superior choice, as this would enable personnel to render immediate medical assistance to any survivors."

Doctor McCoy's eyes flickered pointedly to the medical bag slung over his uniform. "I know, Spock."

When he returned to staring at the wall of the turbolift, Spock went on. "The signal was determined to have been generated by an unknown device on a frequency identical to the one used by subspace communicators on Starfleet vessels. The content of the message indicates that the crew are members of the Terran Empire, a governmental body of a previously discovered alternate universe, so caution is advised when interacting with survivors. They are dangerous individuals."

The doctor looked at him. "I've been briefed on the whole mission, same as you. Like the sound of your own voice that much?" He had breached his silence in a longer sentence this time, and Spock declined to let him fall into it again.

"I do not, as you rationalize it, 'like the sound of my own voice,' doctor. I am merely accounting for the unparalleled human capacity to _forget_ information of vital importance, a capacity which you yourself have demonstrated numerous times."

"Kind of like how you forgot the formula for ryetalyn that one time?" The doctor's mouth quirked up on one side; he was amused.

Spock turned his head to face him in a gesture of dissent. "I did not _forget it,_ doctor, as you are so fond of postulating; I was simply focusing my mental energy on other tasks simultaneously. My delay in responding was a product of the dire circumstances that required I do so."

"Whatever you say, _sir._"

They were silent for a while, but it was more akin to a normal lull in conversation than deliberately invoked. When the turbolift doors did not open themselves in that time, Spock decided to fill it with observations about the planet they were investigating.

"The planet itself, identified as Class L, is somewhat unique in terms of volume and composition. Traces of methane in a hydrogen-helium atmosphere and massive kyanite deposits on the surface cause both to appear blue in color. An unidentified heavy metal is hypothesized to comprise most of its core, in order to explain its abnormal mass for a terrestrial planet. The surface area is close to one hundred twenty times that of earth, almost the size of your system's Jupiter," he intoned, reciting facts with a scientist's vivacity.

"You're not gonna say it's 'fascinating,' are you, Spock?"

Spock paused in what he had been about to say, then instead said, "Would it have made a difference if I was, Doctor?"

At that, he only rolled his eyes.

Spock returned to the subject at hand. "Regardless, it was of note to you that the curvature of the planet is not visible from orbit. I recall you said it was as if the Enterprise were an Earth ship 'becalmed - '"

"- becalmed at sea,'" the doctor finished for him. "Pretty amazing view from the bridge, huh? Just hope it's not literally the case. Those Terran guys are some _nasty _people, I can tell you that from experience." The doctor smiled openly, a display which no doubt represented a positive change in his mood. Spock was satisfied.

"Indeed."

As they exited the lift, it did not escape him that in lieu of the doctor's usual demeanor, it had been _he _who provided the pointless chatter instead. But, Spock reasoned, it was important to ensure all members of the landing party occupied a relatively normal state of mind going in.

He could only hope that he would discover what the doctor was not telling him.

* * *

McCoy opened his eyes; he had a habit of closing them whenever he went through the transporter, and no matter what Scotty said, he did _not _trust the blasted technology to spit him out in one piece through a _million-year ion storm,_ of all things. But the Chief Engineer had insisted that, while it was still slightly risky, the front wasn't nearly as severe as the ones they had encountered previously, and the risk of losing their signals mid-transport was barely greater than if they were orbiting any other planet. In any case, it wasn't worth putting off the mission and denying assistance to the individuals stranded on the surface. That, he could agree with.

So, when the hum of the transporter subsided and he felt the temperature regulators of his suit kick into gear, McCoy opened his eyes.

And the planet was beautiful.

The sky was a hue more brilliant than his own uniform; the ground, while largely an obsidian-like black, deep and glossy, was spread with glowing aquamarine veins of some ore which McCoy suspected would fetch a high price in some remote part of the galaxy. His eye caught a waning white moon hanging in the sky, her surface impossibly smooth, untouched by the volley of asteroids which plagued his own planet's satellite.

They were in a valley of sorts, visible layers of sedimentary stone piling on top of one another into mountainous peaks and dramatic rock formations, with numerous holes burrowing into countless cave systems just below the surface. Before them, the basin opened into a distant plateau, beyond which were faraway hills and mountains no humanoid lifeform had ever even seen.

He wished these helmets came with built-in cameras.

Momentarily breathtaken, McCoy moved into action only when Spock tapped the arm of his suit. "Life indicators are in this direction, Doctor. We must move quickly."

He set off, and the security officers followed while one of his science lieutenants (Roberts, he believed her name was) ran her tricorder over the smooth black ground.

They did, indeed, move quickly; he hardly had time to appreciate the scenery any more before they were moving through rocky passages with little visibility in an attempt to locate the survivors. Five had been detected in total; coincidentally, there were five members of the landing party. McCoy was no fighter, but he was confident that they could handle themselves if things turned violent, especially considering the condition some of those crewmembers must be in.

He would admit he was nervous. His last, and first, encounter with their counterparts had not been under pleasant circumstances, to say the very least. He dreaded the idea of meeting his own double; the man's sickbay was, to put it mildly, a glorified torture chamber. Spock had not hesitate to spin tales of his counterpart's barbaric behavior and mannerisms on the way down, which was equal parts chilling and hilarious.

"Well, Spock," McCoy had retorted, "I happened to have met _your _counterpart, and he was every bit as cold-blooded as you."

"Seeing as our physiology is identical, Doctor, I would expect such an astute observation from even the most rudimentary of medical practitioners, such as yourself."

He'd suppressed a chuckle at that one; he wasn't about to allow that hob-goblin a victory. "Actually, I've gotta amend my previous statement. His blood temperature was a few degrees higher - the goatee kept him warm. You should give it a try, might make you more personable."

Inside, he hoped that his teasing would ensure that Spock never actually grew a beard. Ever. Even if it was only out of spite. It wasn't a good look for him.

Misgivings aside, McCoy could at least comfort himself with the fact that there was an astronomical chance the survivors were of the _ISS Enterpris_e, and if they _were_, against all Spock's calculated odds, he would likely never personally encounter the senior staff.

He shuddered imperceptibly. It _was_ a comfort.

They were, according to Spock's tricorder, less than half a mile from their targets' location when Lieutenant Roberts, so absorbed in her readings, tripped over an unexpected bump in the terrain. They were in the midst of scaling a particularly steep incline, so that when she fell, she ended up tumbling about a dozen meters down the slick surface. From his angle, it seemed like she had come into contact with several sharp irregularities on the ground like the one she stumbled on, which was a potential hazard. McCoy had started after her immediately when he caught Spock and the security staring down at him.

"Go on, keep climbing, we'll be with you in a minute," he called to them. "She'll be fine."

Spock's helmet nodded. "Acknowledged. Do not hesitate to use your communicator if you require any assistance. Gentlemen." With that, they continued up the hill. McCoy hadn't seen them turn before he was halfway to Roberts, cursing the unwieldy lead in his soles ("Gravitational orientation devices, Doctor, made from a steel-andorite alloy, to compensate for the low gravity of some planets") as he went.

He kneeled next to her, running a scanner, as she groaned and sat up. "I'm fine, Doc."

"No breaches?"

"No, I don't think so." She glanced up, no doubt anxious to catch up with the rest of the group.

"Well, lemme check, just to be sure." McCoy inspected the torso, limbs, and helmet of her suit, probing for any indication that its pressurization had been compromised. They were currently traversing a Class L planet, which meant that atmospheric conditions were incapable of supporting any known life, let alone humanoid life. He was always wary of such expeditions; they had encountered far too many convenient Class M's for him to be used to the suits, or the risks that exploring an uninhabitable environment entertained. _Disease and danger, wrapped in darkness and silence_, he thought derisively. The lack of any breathable air neatly encapsulated the "danger" and "silence" parts, in his opinion.

Fortunately, he didn't have to make use of the temporary suit-repairing measures he carried with him (mainly, a roll of Starfleet-issue adhesive strip that looked suspiciously like duct tape) and was able to send Roberts on her way. He reminded her to look _up_ from her tricorder once in a while, and to let him treat any bruises once they returned to the ship.

After standing at the base of the incline for a few moments, making sure Roberts wasn't about to fall on her face again, McCoy glanced around the brightness at the left corner of his vision and brought up the rear.

Wait. He did a double take. Brightness?

He then laid eyes upon something that could only be described as if someone had cut a man-shaped hole in the universe and filled it with light. Piercing, blinding light. McCoy shielded his eyes with one hand.

"Hello?" he said, praying that the entity used some form of verbal communication. "My name is McCoy, my friends and I come in peace."

The entity shifted closer, and reached an "arm" towards him. He began to lean away, but before he could do anything, it wrapped itself around his elbow. He flinched, expecting pain, but its "body" was harmless to touch. He was afraid, nonetheless, and chanced a burning glimpse into what he guessed was a face, praying that it didn't plan to kill or kidnap him. His communicator, tossed into his bag rather than secured at its place on his belt, was out of reach. Damn his carelessness.

The creature leaned close, and before he could scarcely comprehend what he was hearing, indescribable sounds filled his ears. A language of buzzing and clicking and humming, and a nausea that suggested lower frequencies far beyond the range of his hearing. He had no idea why the translator couldn't pick up on any of it; stranger languages had been deciphered in this galaxy.

The terrifying moment lasted for no more than a minute, but by the time it ended, McCoy felt as though something critical had been sapped from his body. He blinked, retinas recovering from the holes the thing had burned in them, and just as he did, the entity had flickered back into oblivion. He stared at the space it had occupied, wondering if he'd hallucinated all of it, then ran a scanner over himself with a trembling hand.

He appeared to be fine.

The "words" of the creature echoed in his brain, though, and a pervasive dread began to creep over him.

Lieutenant Roberts was disappearing over the top of the hill when McCoy finally started up it. He elevated his pace, not wishing to be left behind in case the thing came back. He also decided to prioritize catching up with the others over retrieving his communicator from his bag - the hill was steep, and he didn't want to fall, too, for lack of awareness.

At last, he reached the summit and, despite how he was already out of breath, jogged over to where the rest of the team was gathered not far ahead. Roberts was gesturing emphatically to a displeased Spock, who looked irritable even with his face obscured behind a visor.

"Sir, I swear, he was right behind me!"

"Your lack of attentiveness will be noted on your record, Lieutenant. We must locate - " He caught McCoy's eye.

"Doctor. I see you are uninjured." He wordlessly dismissed Roberts, who shook her head and returned to her tricorder. "What kept you?"

"Spock," he panted, and took a moment to breathe. "Spock, there's something out there."

"Something out there?" He stepped closer, concern dawning on his features. "Why did you not notify myself or the security officers?"

"I… " He was still embarrassed of his error. "My communicator was… out of reach, for the moment."

Spock hummed, regarding him with hidden judgments. "Please keep it _within_ reach at all times. More to the point, you say there was 'something out there'? Was it an organism of some kind?"

McCoy licked his dry lips. "I… I think so. Something like life. I wasn't able to get a read on it, unfortunately."

"Curious." Spock gazed out onto the horizon, as if he could catch sight of it if he looked hard enough. "No lifeforms of any kind have been detected on the planet's surface by our ship's scanners. What did it look like?"

"It was bright. Emitting light. Hurt my eyes. It touched me - felt like nothin'. If I had to guess, I'd say it was some kind of energy being. Only with a human's shape."

At that, Spock raised one eyebrow. "No unusual energy signatures have been detected on the planet's surface _either_, Doctor. Perhaps the stress of the mission has compromised your already volatile mental state."

"Oh, bull, Spock, I know what I saw!" he protested, glaring at the smug bastard's face. "I'm telling you, there _is _something out there, and it could be dangerous."

"As you say, Doctor," Spock replied, with just the barest hint of condescension that would go unnoticed by anyone other than McCoy. Then, more seriously, "If you manage to locate this 'energy being' again, take care to notify myself and the others; further study beyond a single eyewitness encounter is necessary to understand the being and the potential danger it imposes. Also, I expect all details regarding the entity to be included in your report of this mission."

McCoy sighed; there was nothing else to do. "Alright, Spock."

A few short conversations with the security and the Enterprise, who were updated on the situation concerning McCoy's sighting of the strange creature, elapsed, and they were on again, with added haste. Because the possibility that he'd been affected by the experience, or was somehow affected to begin with, was not out of the question, everyone's eyes were on him now, watching, waiting for him to collapse or start screaming or something. The stress of _that_ was adding to a building dread that, ironically, had begun when the creature left him alone.

Finally, the team came to an overhang that led into a cave, with glittering walls and passages shrouded in darkness. Spock's tricorder was beeping urgently, and he shut off the annoying noise. "I believe our survivors are encamped nearby," he said.

"Hopefully they're not dead by now," McCoy grumbled.

They were not, in fact, dead by then. McCoy saw movement from inside the cave, and out of its mouth emerged several figures in suits identical to their own, only with an alien, but starkly familiar, symbol carved into the torso.

The Empire.

He _knew_ it was them, had known it for the hours and hours leading up to this moment, but McCoy's heart still leapt into his throat.

Spock and the security personnel pushed in front of he and Lieutenant Roberts, who was content to hang back. Honestly, McCoy was, too.

The men in the front raised their empty hands above their shoulders, and he was fearful once again. Who knew how the ever-bloodthirsty Terrans would react to their presence?

Spock's voice was calm. "Lower your phasers," he commanded. "We come in p - "

He had seen something fit to give him pause. McCoy tensed. Spock's next words were very soft, almost to himself.

"The Captain will be most interested." he said, utterly awed, and McCoy gently pushed aside the red suits to see what he referred to.

His eyes locked onto his own counterpart's first, his own blue locked onto that perfect mirror image, that sick person's mind wearing his face. That was a shock in and of itself. But his focus did not stay there. It traveled, against his will… and, to his horror, met the impervious gaze of one Commander Spock of the _ISS Enterprise._

He had to struggle to swallow that fear, to not let it tunnel his vision and labor his breathing, to stay on his feet when all he wanted was to fall to his knees.


End file.
